Page 40 of Sick(ness)

“Don’t let the teacher vibe fool you,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve been through enough parent-teacher conferences to survive this.”

That earned a quiet laugh, the sound low and genuine. It loosened something between them, something that had been wound too tight since the day they met.

They both leaned over the map again, the space between them small, their voices hushed as they began marking routes and listing supplies. The firelight flickered against the worn paper, casting their shadows together on the cabin wall.

* * *

That night, as Sawyer drifted from window to window, checking the makeshift barricades, sealing the wood shutters, double-checking the gun by the stove, Addy tracked his every movement from her seat by the fire. In the days before everything went to hell, she’d prided herself on keeping a kind of clinical distance, never seeing herself as the sort of person who let desire steer the wheel. But here, now, in a half-rotted world where the only things beyond their cabin were cold wind and the dead, every footstep he took seemed to heat the very air between them.

She’d gotten used to watching him in a way that wasn’t obvious: the way his hands moved, efficient, never wasted; the way his voice, flat and matter-of-fact, sometimes cracked at the edges after a long day. The way he would sometimes stand in the doorway, backlit, and just look out into the woods while his jaw set tight against some memory she’d never see. Tonight, the tense choreography of his movements was a kind of language, and she felt her body tuning into it instinctively, as if it were a code written in the muscles along her spine and the softest parts of her thighs.

Addy let herself go further than she ever had, letting herself study the way Sawyer’s shirt clung to his back, sweat mapping the ridges of his shoulders. She imagined, for the first time without shame or filter, what it would feel like to run her hands over that heat, to press her lips against the nape of his neck and taste the salt and smoke that clung there. She wondered if he’d shiver or tense, if he’d even let her get that close before spinning on her and taking control.

That thought alone sent a bolt through her, sharp and low. She drew a breath, surprised at the flush that was already spreading up her chest. She’d never admitted it to herself, but even in her old life, in the quiet, safe monotony of lesson plans and lunch duty, she’d never really let anyone see her. She’d never had a lover who made her feel like she might unravel if she let go, never once come with another person except by mechanical accident or her own determination. Now, under the thin blanket of survival, her body was waking up in ways she’d thought belonged to other women, women in movies, women who didn’t know what it was like to risk loss.

She closed her eyes, picturing Sawyer’s hands on her, the rough catch of his thumb against her breast, the careful grip of his fingers lacing over her hip. She imagined the sound of his breath against her ear, the heat of it, the way her name would sound, Addy, that clipped, low syllable, when he was no longer thinking about tomorrow or the next threat, but only about the shape of her under him. The current running through her veins doubled, pooled, then broke in tiny, urgent spasms that made her press her thighs together and shiver. It was almost humiliating how quickly her body responded, how badly it wanted to be claimed, marked, known.

She let herself fantasize a little further: Sawyer pinning her wrists above her head, his mouth hard and searching, the unexpected tenderness of his hand tracing the hair at her temple. She was aware of the pressure building in her chest, a tingling rush that feathered out through her nipples, so sharp she had to rub her arms to make it go away. She’d never told anyone, never even written it in her journals, but she’d always wondered what it would be like to lose control, to let someone else drive her to that edge and over.

Sawyer finished his last round, shut the door, and caught her staring. He didn’t say anything, but she saw a flicker of something in his eye: an acknowledgment, a dare, or just possibly a warning. The fire hissed and popped behind her, and she curled tighter into herself, afraid that if he looked too closely, he’d see exactly what she’d been thinking. But she didn’t look away. Not this time.

She held his gaze until he turned, silent, toward table the corner. Only then did she let herself exhale, her pulse galloping wildly in her wrists and throat. If there ever was a night to do something reckless, it was this one, with the dead howling somewhere out in the dark and only hunger and hope left inside the walls.

She stood, walked to the narrow window, and watched Sawyer’s shadow as he settled in, chest rising and falling with each measured breath.

If she could just work up the nerve.

If she could just cross the few feet between them and touch him, just rest her hand against his shoulder, feel the steady heat of his skin, maybe she could remember what it felt like to be alive.

Addy sat there for a long time, staring at him as the firelight softened around them. Sawyer was still at the table, leaning over the map they’d spent hours studying, one hand absently tracing the edge of it. The tired slump of his shoulders told her how much he carried, more than supplies and plans. He carried the weight of keeping them both alive.

And somehow, that made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected.

She stood slowly, the floor creaking under her bare feet. He looked up, his eyes catching the light, those calm, unreadable eyes that always seemed to see more than she said.

“Heading to bed?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

He gave a small, weary smile. “Get some rest.”

Addy hesitated, searching his face for something: a crack in that careful composure, a flicker of whatever was building between them. But Sawyer only looked back at her, steady and patient, waiting.

She turned toward the bed, the warmth of the fire fading as she stepped away from it. The cabin was dim now, filled with the soft sounds of settling wood and wind brushing against the walls. She peeled back the blanket and slid beneath it, the sheets cool against her skin.

Behind her, she heard Sawyer move: the quiet scrape of a chair, the low rustle of his clothes. The mattress dipped slightly as he lay down beside her, the faint scent of pine, leather, and smoke filling the air.

She stared at the ceiling, every nerve awake. So close. Close enough to feel the slow rhythm of his breathing beside her. Close enough to imagine what it might be like to turn toward him.

Addy closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, willing her thoughts to quiet. She told herself she just wanted to rest, that it was the exhaustion talking, the fear, the loneliness pressing in from every direction. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t just that.

It was him. The steadiness. The safety. The warmth she hadn’t let herself want in so long.

She pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself, whispering a prayer she hadn’t said in years, not for survival, not for the world to heal, but for sleep to come before she did something foolish.

Because lying this close to him, it wasn’t death she feared anymore.

* * *